Suddenly a terrified voice called to me: “In God’s name, Sinclair, where have you come from?”

And a human figure rose out of the darkness close to me, a little thin shape like a ghost. I recognized, while yet my hair was standing on end, my school companion Knauer.

“How did you get here?” he asked, as if mad with excitement. “How have you been able to find me?”

I did not understand.

“I wasn’t looking for you,” I said, dazed. I spoke with difficulty, the words came from me painfully, as if from dead, heavy, frozen lips.

“You weren’t looking for me?”

“No. I was drawn here. Did you call me? You must have called. But what are you doing here? It’s still night.”

He put his thin arms convulsively round me.